Our Little World II

Nicholas felt white rage blind his vision. He had given everything to this man, and when he freed Michael, he had only taken his due. With a whip of his hand, Nicholas swung the gun forward and fired one clean bullet into the King’s forehead. The Blood King sprouted some of his namesake into the air, and splattered on his **** perfect face. Rahal let out a rageful scream, lurching forward and seizing the knife from the table. Nicholas turned, the gun roaring loudly again in the lounge room. Rahal fell with a snarl, blood staining the white of his shoulder. Nicholas stood over him, that disgusting and twisted man, and shot him coolly in the head as well. Both Prince and King still, Nicholas looked over at Sai and Lien. “We’re free,” he muttered, as he reached to grab the box next to the King’s body. “Let’s go.”

Nicholas's eyes truly conveyed the blood lust he imagined, just for a moment. The vision was tempting, and the gun was cold in Nicholas’s hand. He could particularly imagine the smell of blood. The two tyrants would be dead, and have no more grasps of their life. He wished it was that simple. If he was to fufill the vision, the other Kingdoms would crash down upon Firesse for the bloodshed. The peace between the Kingdoms was delicate, but he feared they would all end up in death’s clutch if he were to act on it. He felt his knees crumble, lowering himself in front of Rhys. He tried to feel nothing, to remove the emotions that he had developed over years under Michael’s rule. He wasn’t entirely successful, still feeling that queasy shake in his belly. The tile was hard to kneel on, and Nicholas bowed his head to not make eye contact with Rhys.

It isn’t real. It’s just a dream. You can leave soon, and run.

He shakily removed the rags of his robe, leaving him shirtless and bare in the room. His chest and back, which he had consistently hidden over the years, were bare to all. Rhys’s cuts were long, smooth, a delicate pattern that followed Nicholas’s rib cage and tone. Notches were made between the cuts, nearly an art, if it hadn’t been made of someone’s flesh. The only sound in the room was Nicholas’s panting and uneven breath. Rahal stood, watching Nicholas with cat like satisfaction, as he moved behind Sai. Those emerald eyes turned to the young man, and a cruelly turned his lips up in a mocking smile.

Nicholas pushed the gun from him, the metal sliding along the tile with a low rattle. “He is dying,” Nicholas breathed. “You have us all in your hand. P-please…. He doesn’t have this time to waste, Mas…” The word choked in his throat. Nicholas truly thought he couldn’t say it. He tried it again, but the M stammered, before he managed, “….master.”

They’re taking his love again.

Nicholas could remember the scene. The packed courtyard, the blood on the tile, the pale body on the floor. Rhys certainly had a plan in how to man handle Michael, only now this one was so much more refined. He heard Lien’s protest, and thought vaguely to himself that Michael had been wrong about Lien. Lien could have been a greater King than Michael had expected, but that wasn’t the path laid. The bricks for the path were crumpled, broken into threes, and laid in his, Lien, and Sai’s hands, and they were desperately trying to fit them together to bring some semblance of life back. The look on Rahal’s face was frightening. That man was sick, broken. He had been since he was a child. Nicholas wondered if there was anyone the Prince was close to, and with certainty, he decided that there was no one who would love that man. His own mother tried to kill him in the womb. He tightened his grip on Sai’s hand. The boy would need to be brave. Every one of them had been scarred by this place, and it was cruel to ask any to return, but for Michael and Firesse’s life, it was necessary.

“Come here, Nicholas,” Rhys had said. Nicholas was thrown to a million times the King had said this, and he had eagerly and silently obeyed. Nicholas’s hand tightened briefly on Sai’s, whether for his own comfort or Sai’s it was hard to say, and then he stood shakily and turned to Rhys. Moments ago, he had told that man that he wasn’t his King. Now, he was obeying. Right back. How did this happen? How did Rhys always win on top of them all? Then, his eye caught the gleam of the glass bottle and he remembered. There was all type of bait in the world, and Nicholas had came running in loudly looking for it. How could he blame Rhys for pulling on the hook?

Rahal shifted in his seat, leaning forward to look closer at Sai. There were no words, but the malice and hunger were clear in his eyes. Nicholas paused, “Your Prince will hurt him,” he said. “Micha- the King would never..” Nicholas may have continued, but Rahal had stood harshly. The chair dragged on the wood, and Rahal glared at him.

“I am tired of the words of a rat.” With that, Rahal swiped out. There was a gleam of metal in his hand. Nicholas took a long step back. He hadn’t expected Rahal to still be armed. However, there was no cut on his skin. There was only a ripping of his fabric. Rahal, long hair hanging over his shoulders, took a stride forward and swiped again. Nicholas’s clothing was hanging, tattered now, around his shoulders. His hand rose to the heavy robe, but Rahal seized the hands and threw them down. His hands took the tears and pulled down, exposing a long series of healed scarred skin on his abdomen. “I don’t know what else my King could have done to try to teach you,” Rahal hissed. “It is a mercy you have your life, eyes, or tongue. I’d shut the **** up now, before I remedy any of that.” He looked at his King, “Only by my King’s will, do you stand as whole as you appear.” The words were cold, sarcastic, and mocking.

Then, Rahal sat. He sat at obediently as he had previously, when he had simply ran an errand for the King. Nicholas stood there, trembling, staring down at the rounded scars on his abdomen. All marks derived from his naval line and curled upwards towards his shoulders. Across his chest was an intricate criss cross. The thick clothes that Nicholas always wore were shattered and Rhys’s ownership of his skin exposed.

The air was hot. Rahal watched, returning to his composed impassivity. He had even placed the knife on the coffee table, near any who could have wanted it. Nicholas closed his eyes, breathing harshly to himself, before opening them again. Without words, he approached Rhys. He wanted to cover himself, as the thought of Rhys looking at his handiwork created a sick feeling inside him, but Sai and Lien were so upset. The two beautiful men had never seen the scarred flesh of Nicholas, and the embarrassment and shame threatened to overwhelm Nicholas. He had to be impassive. He stood in front of Rhys, and wondered if he should kneel. Rahal stared hotly at him, clearly expecting it, but Nicholas just stood. There was a dull glaze in his brown eyes, but his fingers were clenched tight. There was defiance in the stance, but something was rattling against in his brain that kept him still and frozen. Michael… Michael never did this to him. He was allowed to be something like a man with Michael. He needed to make sure that man lived.

Nicholas rose his eyes to Rhys. The dullness remained, but so did the fire from earlier in their conversation. With great hesitation, Nicholas reached out a hand.

The King’s blood seeped through the fabric of the chair. Michael’s head was tilted back, darkened crimson blood dried along the side of his face and mouth. His once lush hair hung dully along his thin face. The hemorrhage had clearly ravaged his body, and was now ending his existence. There was no part of Michael’s mind that was present in this moment – that knew of where he had been returned, and the passionate pleas for his life, and the sacrifices about to occur. All that Michael knew was that he floated along the black, and that he had forgotten his name, and that the breath was becoming shallower, and soon it all would be gone.

~~

Nicholas felt the words pull from him. At Firesse, his words were valued and listened to, even by the King when allowed. Here, they were poison, to both him and Michael. He felt deep shame when Lien had to bow. He wanted to encourage the Prince up, that he was a Prince of Michael’s Firesse,  but Lien hadn’t grown in the same situation as Michael and Nicholas. He didn’t share that anger and hatred, but instead simply understood politics. It was Lien’s service that worked, and Nicholas stood red faced, blood trickling down his check.

 He shifted uncomfortably, looking down, but when Rahal was sent, his eyes jerked up to stare at Rhys. He searched for any confirmation of the Estraella tale, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. Rhys was as impossible to read. Yet, when the locket appeared, Nicholas’s heart stopped pounding. In fact, everything stopped. Could it…. Could this far fetched dream have some truth to it?

He had shamed himself. Nicholas had faced his monster and remained defeated. He had tried to speak as a man, perhaps a free man, and was brutally reminded of where he was and who he was and who he would always be. Nicholas’s fingers clenched into his heavy sleeves, feeling the hot scars beneath.

"As I told you, I'm a businessman. So here are my terms. Sai, my little bird, shall remain here under our care as a sign of good faith.” Rahal’s emerald eyes nestled on Sai. He wanted the dove to feel them, to remember the last time Sai was under Sanguinara’s care. A deep, purring contentment raised in Rahal’s gut at the thought. He could finish what he wasn’t able to finish with Michael. As Rhys continued, he sharply turned to Rhys at the mention  of Michael staying at Sanguinara. “Ki-“ Rahal began and cut himself off damn quick. He rolled his neck, looking sharply away from Rhys as though hoping that Rhys wouldn’t note his questioning. Still, the knife of a man became rigid, thinking of the increased presence of that damn Michael. Rahal gazed at the bloodied man. He had never seen Michael looking more pleasing to him than he did now – on his death bed.

“They both would need safety reassurances…” Nicholas began, but quickly trailed off as he stared at the glass bottle. He looked at Sai, and dismay crossed Nicholas’s face. He had promised the young Master he would not allow harm to come to him. Nicholas wanted to beg Rhys to let him stay with Sai, to care for him, but he saw how Rhys had responded to Lien’s servitude and humbleness. He didn’t believe his words would help them achieve their goal. Instead, turning away from Rhys, Nicholas slowly knelt and gripped Sai’s hand. It was the kneeling of a servant, much like Lien’s, and Nicholas pressed his forehead into Sai’s hand.

Nicholas’s gift to the conversation was silence and stillness, just as he had been all those years in this palace.

It was a desperate bow to Rhys after all his impertinence.

Still, Nicholas’s brain was free and wired, and he was desperately trying to think of a plan to free both Michael and Sai from this once the deed was done.
He had nothing at this time, but he stared at the beloved Prince, awaiting his decision.

Rahal stirred from his languid position. He had been delightedly eating up Nicholas's discomfort, the sense of Rhys's command and power in the room, but Rahal sensed the shift in Rhys. He uncoiled his limbs, searching Rhys's face wonderingly, before looking back at Nicholas with a more serious expression. Worse, a curiosity.

Nicholas had spent his entire childhood trying to make sure that this man had all his needs met, that everything was accounted for. He had never expected to face the wrath he saw on Rhys's face. Even chained and tormented, Rhys had remained cool and collected. It showed in the specific direction and pattern of his scars. Now, Nicholas thought Rhys may be capable of anything, and currently he was the focal point of that energy.

****.

Nicholas swallowed painfully. He had to collect himself. He took deep breaths, letting the silence hang. Slowly, he turned his eyes to Lien and Sai. "He knows the word." He stared meaningfully at them. It could be the smallest bit of hope.


Anger flashed through Rahal. He couldn't believe this man. He spoke to others when the King directed a question at him. He held a gun in the presence of his King. Rahal stood, slowly, his anger contained only to his eyes. Nicholas's attention returned to Rhys as Rahal stood. The servant glared, trying to contain himself, before shakily returning his gaze to Rhys.

"A father told a story to his son once.  A mouse overheard."

"You're looking young, Rhys."

Nicholas put his hand behind his back. Behind, his fingers were shaking visibly.

As Rhys spoke, Nicholas felt his skin tighten. He was a man born to serve, and to be told that he was by someone who was his superior from a young age denied him his internal truth. His hand squirmed along his arm, fidgeting as he wavered with his eye contact. A part of him wanted to admit that Rhys was correct. He knew that Michael would rather die than be here, but Michael’s life wasn’t the only one of value in Firesse. He… His own life was of value. He had to value it, because Nicholas sincerely believed no one else would value it. Not Prince Lien, Master Sai, King Michael.. he had to.. he…

Michael would have been strong enough for this. The dying King had come face to face with Rhys many times over the years, and he had maintained face and courage. Nicholas just felt like he was melting.

“Overstepped your position…”

Yes.

“Your stupidity is overshadowed by your naivety.”

Yes.

Somewhere, he could hear Lien and Sai losing faith in him. Their voices drowned in the background of the noise in his brain. Sai’s desperate cry, Lien reasserting his rightness…

His nails dug into the pillow cover, the chains rattling as they did so. The pain of knife, the hand in his hair pushing down into the casing as the delicate curve split his sk- NO.

Nicholas let out a shaking, pained breath. His vision cleared to Rahal’s predatory eyes, languid and chillingly pleased with Nicholas’s discomfort. Shifting over to Rhys’s – seeing the anger, the composure.

“Yo-you haven’t proved that you have anything that would help the King,” Nicholas began slowly. “You are not the hospital, as the Prince says. Why do you think I brought him to you?” Nicholas paused, his gaze venturing closer to Rhys, “because of a traitorous heart? No, I am desperately hoping for a miracle, and rumor has it you are the only person with this miracle that may save my dying King.” Nicholas paused, then said the legend, “An Estraella.”